


lavender

by angeltalk



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Oneshot, set during episode 36
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeltalk/pseuds/angeltalk
Summary: “You uh, you didn’t misread it.”Shindou halts in his tracks. He doesn’t turn back to face him. Ibuki pauses. His mouth feels dry and his face feels hot. He can’t leave it at that. Isn’t this what he’s been worrying about? What he wanted to happen?But now that he’s here, what is he supposed to say?
Relationships: Ibuki Munemasa/Shindou Takuto, implied past rantaku if you squint
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	lavender

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during Episode 36 - Shindou and Ibuki are practicing in the Black Room the day before their match with Falam Orbius. The very beginning is word for word what happens in the episode, so if you think it sounds familiar - that's why! 
> 
> This wound up being a little longer than I'd anticipated, but I am such a sucker for these two and wanted to let them progress naturally.
> 
> Thank you to my beta - dandelionbeach!
> 
> Enjoy!

The ball whizzes past Ibuki once more. He makes a  _ tsk _ sound in his frustration. 

“One more time!” He calls out.

A new ball materializes at Shindou’s feet - one of the many perks of training in the Black Room. 

The two of them have been doing this a lot lately; late night Black Room training. Shindou lifts his foot and places it on the ball to stabilize it. 

It’s been like this ever since Gurdon and its hot, blistering environment. The tense relationship they used to have has melted away into something new, something Ibuki doesn’t quite understand. Shindou seems much more at ease with him than before, and Ibuki has come to expect his offers to practice when everyone else has gone to bed. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

Ibuki isn’t sure what comes over him.

“Shindou! I’ll only say this once, so listen up!”

The playmaker blinks.

“When I was a basketball freak, you taught me how much fun soccer was, and I’m grateful for that.” Ibuki says. He closes his hand into a fist. “I’ll show you my best plays tomorrow.”

Shindou closes his eyes with a small smile and a little laugh.

Ibuki points at him with confidence and continues. “I won’t quit soccer until I’ve heard you say from your own mouth that I’ve got you beat!”

Shindou looks very smug with his hand on his hip. “Then I guess you’re never quitting.”

“What?!”

Shindou’s face turns serious, wavy hair bouncing as he looks directly into Ibuki’s eyes. “We’ll win tomorrow.”

Ibuki pauses for a moment before grinning and giving him a thumbs up. “Right!”

Winning has never been more crucial. For Earth Eleven, for their own planet, and for the entire universe. All things considered, it’s a very heavy burden to bear.

But with Shindou, the burden doesn’t feel as crushing as it should. In fact, it feels light as air. It feels like there’s no possible way they could lose. How could they? Shindou is so capable, so intelligent, his playmaking unrivaled. At his side, Ibuki feels like he can accomplish anything.

So why does he have this sinking feeling? It feels like the sand in this simulation that slips between his fingertips. Whether they win or lose tomorrow, time is running out. There’s only so much of this left.

_ This. _

Shindou’s eyes glint towards Ibuki’s own as he lines up his shot.

Whatever this is, he doesn’t want it to end. Even though the end means going home, means seeing his family, playing basketball, finally feeling real  _ grass _ under his feet. They have to win, and he wants to win, but… they have something here, the two of them. Something that has no name. Ibuki doesn’t want whatever this is that he and Shindou have together to change. 

It’s then that Ibuki is jolted from his thoughts.

The ball flies past him once more, but not because he couldn’t block it. The simulation around them flickers and there’s a crashing sound that fills his senses. Ibuki is thrown off balance into the side of the goalpost as the world tilts on its axis. Several feet in front of him, Shindou stumbles and falls backwards into a dune as sand flies up around him.

“Shindou!” Ibuki calls out instantly, shielding his face against the spray of sand that is steadily picking up, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Shindou calls back. “I think something’s wrong with the Black R-”

The wind that has suddenly started to blow through cuts him off. The simulation is rocking and booming and Ibuki’s uneasiness is growing by the second as the sand in the air gets thicker and thicker before his eyes.

If they get separated this could potentially be bad. What’s happening? He needs to get to Shindou. Ibuki uses the goalpost to stand up against the wind and tries to peer through the billowing sand. He experiences a momentary panic. Shindou is nowhere to be seen. The sandstorm only appears to be getting worse.

“Shindou!” He calls again.

“I’m right here.” Comes Shindou’s voice and his familiar mess of brown waves appears out from the thick sandstorm several meters ahead. He’s back on his feet and trying to take a step forward, but it’s obvious the wind is threatening to push him over again.

Before Ibuki even knows it he’s left the goalpost behind and with his arm up to the wind he makes his way towards the playmaker. 

Slowly, slowly, they reach each other and when he’s finally within reach, Ibuki grabs a hold of Shindou’s hand in an iron tight grasp. Without even thinking, Ibuki pulls the other towards his body and looks back towards the goal. It’s completely invisible, lost in the storm. Even though Ibuki is certain it’s not very far away, there’s no way to try to go back towards it without the risk of getting completely lost.

“Dammit.” He says. The wind is stinging and rough and Shindou is pulling him towards the ground to escape it, eyes shut tight. Ibuki places a gloved hand to the back of Shindou’s head to press his face against his chest in an attempt to shield him. He then shuts his eyes and buries his face into the soft brown hair as he and Shindou kneel to the ground.

Is this it? Are he and Shindou really about to get buried alive by a fake sandstorm in a fake desert? Can you die in the Black Room? Ibuki doesn’t think so, but this has never happened before, and the whipping harshness of the sand and wind feels very, very real. Maybe normal Black Room physics and rules are no longer on the table. Shinsuke and Tetsukado were in the Black Room once when it glitched out before, right? Didn’t it get fixed since then? Why is this happening?

The storm doesn’t seem to be stopping.

Sand is everywhere, in his clothing, his hair, and his mouth. He can feel it building up around them by the way it fills into his shoes. Ibuki doesn’t even want to risk opening his eyes. This is bad. This sand could bury and suffocate them both at this rate. He presses his face further into the top of Shindou’s head and curls his arms even tighter around him.

Then everything stops.

It’s like someone flipped to a different channel on a television. The wind, sand, and sound are all gone at once. 

There is a beat of ringing silence left behind.

Slowly, Ibuki opens one eye tentatively and squints, not lifting his head, not trusting that it’s over.

The sand is gone - save for the amount that’s sliding off his hair - replaced with what looks like green scenery in his bleary vision. Ibuki breathes in sharply, not even aware of how much his lungs were screaming after holding his breath against the winds. The still, cool air feels incredible. A gentle, clean smell slowly invades his senses. An unmistakable scent of honey and lavender conditioner. Shindou, still pressed against his chest, is now gasping and lets out a small cough.

Oh, that’s right, he probably doesn’t need to shield Shindou anymore.

But something stops him from letting go. Ibuki is suddenly very aware of Shindou’s hands holding onto the fabric of his uniform, the pressure and weight of Shindou as he leans into him. He’s aware of Shindou’s breath against his upper chest, and of just how soft the other boy’s hair feels against his face. He freezes.

“You okay?”

Ibuki’s motor neurons roar back to life and he drops his arms from around Shindou and moves back to put some space between them. Shindou is now rubbing one of his eyes with a hand while still managing to look at him concernedly, hair sandy and windblown, cheeks tinged red. 

“All good.” Ibuki croaks out. 

“I think there’s sand in my eye.” 

Impulsively, Ibuki reaches forward and grabs Shindou’s wrist before he can keep rubbing his eye with it. “Don’t rub it! You’ll scratch your cornea.”

Shindou’s affected eye is scrunched shut and for the first time Ibuki notices that it’s wet with tears. He freezes once more, hyperaware that he’s once again initiated physical contact. He’s even more aware of the silky skin on Shindou’s wrist, the pulse beneath it. He’s not sure if Shindou is blushing or the pink shade on his cheeks is just from the whipping sand.

He’s been holding his wrist way too long now. This is two seconds from becoming awkward. Ibuki needs to say something.

“…Um…Are you, uh, are you crying?”

Shindou rips his arm out of his grasp.

“No, it hurts.” He says, glaring, covering the eye with his hand once more. “It’s just watering. It’s not like I can control it.”

Great, now he’s offended him. Ibuki inwardly curses himself. Smooth. Real smooth. 

In any case, they need to find water to flush out Shindou’s eye before he rubs it again. Ibuki can worry about being embarrassed later when Shindou is no longer in danger of going blind for a few days.

It’s then that he notices exactly where they are.

There’s green scenery, yes, but that’s not all. They’re not even sitting on solid ground. Upon closer inspection, it seems they’re sitting just on the edge panel of an old bridge next to the green foliage. The bridge is one of those old fashioned ones that reminds Ibuki of Indiana Jones, that reminds him of the one Minaho and Manabe talk incessantly about using in the Black Room all the time to train their speed and reaction time.

Oh.

Oh no.

Ibuki scrambles to his feet. “Shindou, we need to-“

Ibuki is cut off when the bridge opens up beneath them and sends them falling into thin air.

He’s vaguely aware of his own scream before they hit the water and everything goes black.

* * *

The first thing that Ibuki is aware of when he drifts back into consciousness is a dull pounding in his head. The second is the warmth emanating from somewhere in front of him. A fire, maybe? The flame is strange though. Too warm, too artificial. It reminds him of those hissatsu techniques when he plays soccer, like Shindou’s fiery God’s Baton. Or maybe not. Why a fire? He doesn’t remember going camping today. 

Ibuki groggily pushes himself to sitting and presses a bare hand to his temple. Huh. He could have sworn he was wearing his goalkeeping gloves. Ibuki takes a moment to peer at his hand, and then at his arms, which are also bare. It’s not long before he discovers he’s not wearing a shirt. He shivers in the cold night air.

There’s a small movement beside him that breaks him out of his distraction. He turns his head to see a familiar figure lying beside him, using a pile of leaves for a pillow. His wavy, stardust-colored hair is damp and curled more than usual, and the slightly-wet soccer jersey he’s wearing is sticking to his skin. Ibuki is not in the right of mind to force himself not to stare.

Shindou. 

The memories come back into him in a wave. Ibuki remembers their training earlier, the sandstorm, the bridge, the fall. At further inspection of his surroundings, the nature around him feels fake - fake like how the fire burning at the center of this make-shift campsite feels fake. 

Artificial.

They must still be in the Black Room - though it appears to still be broken, seeing as how it’s  _ nighttime _ in the  _ Black Room _ , something that would normally be impossible. Not to mention the fact that Ibuki is sure this stage is supposed to reset when the user hits the water.

They are at what appears to be a riverside, with a forest at their backs. The bridge is visible in the distance to his left. Ibuki’s hair and remaining clothes are damp.

Obviously the stage did not reset.

It doesn’t take Ibuki long to decipher that he must have lost consciousness falling into the water. Shindou must have evaded that fate and saved them both, brought them both to shore. That’s the only explanation. 

So here he is again, being saved by Shindou. Ibuki closes his hands into fists but then stops when he sees his own Earth Eleven goalkeeper jersey, socks, gloves, soccer cleats, and black headband laid out to dry next to the fire. 

Shindou must have undressed him so he wouldn’t freeze to death in the cold nighttime air. Ibuki’s face flushes furiously. His only saving grace is that Shindou left his shorts on. 

If this happened a few months ago, Ibuki is certain Shindou may have left him for dead in this situation, or at least wouldn’t have gone to these lengths to take care of him. So why? What changed between then and now? What happened exactly on Gurdon that changed their relationship so much? Was it the shared traumas? Near death experiences? Or, was it their souls? Awakening together?

Ibuki gets to his feet, and before he knows it he’s grabbing his dry jersey. But, instead of pulling it over his head, he lays it over Shindou like a blanket. He pulls his footwear on, shoves the gloves in his pockets, and fixes the headband back onto his head, pausing after to vaguely wonder how long he’s been out.

Ibuki sits and watches Shindou’s frame rise and fall with each breath. He remembers how it felt earlier when Shindou was pressed against him to escape the sandstorm. How his soft, wavy hair felt against his face. His hands gripping his shirt, even after the threat of the storm was gone. Ibuki sighs.

There’s that sinking feeling again. That feeling that time is running out. That once their galactic mission is over, everything is over. Every bit of it. Every bit of whatever this is that he has with Shindou, that he desperately wants to keep, that he doesn’t want to change.

It’s taken him quite some time to come to terms with how he feels.

He knows if he wants to keep this he needs to say something. But how? And when? 

Does Shindou feel it, too? If he does, why hasn’t he said anything?

Shindou has never made it a secret; what he feels about Ibuki.

Ibuki slowly, tentatively makes his way over to where Shindou is still asleep on his side and lays down beside him. Gently, shyly, he puts his arm over Shindou and pulls himself closer against the other boy’s back. Shindou lets out a small sigh and Ibuki freezes, scared, anxious.

But it’s nothing. Deep in this strange, artificial forest, Shindou feels different from the fake, simulated surroundings as Ibuki gingerly winds his arms around his middle. He’s different from the inhabitants of each alien planet they’ve visited in this huge, wide galaxy. He’s different from anyone else on Earth Eleven. He can feel Shindou’s heartbeat, his lungs expand. He is unmistakably real, unmistakably human.

Ibuki curls flush against his back and presses his forehead against the back of Shindou’s still-damp hair, breathing in the cool smell of the river, and the faint hint of lavender honey conditioner. 

* * *

The next time Ibuki opens his eyes he’s being shaken awake.

“Ibuki! Wake up!”

“Huh?”

Shindou is no longer asleep between Ibuki’s arms and is instead awake on his knees before him, snapping his fingers in his face. “Are you deaf? Come on!”

It’s then he becomes aware that he’s lying on pavement.

On top of that, the scenery is not the cold riverside forest he remembers falling asleep in. It’s still Black Room for sure, but the once cold and lush surroundings are now that of a blistering concrete world. A long, narrow street flanked by a fake-looking cityscape. 

Shindou snaps in front of his face again. Ibuki blinks at him. The other boy looks significantly drier than he did last night, his soft brown hair - Ibuki knows how soft it is - is curlier than normal from the river water. Ibuki’s soccer jersey is in Shindou’s other hand.

Oh, that’s right. He’s shirtless. Because he put his jersey over Shindou as a makeshift blanket. 

“Shindou, I-“

“Come on!”

Ibuki hears it before he sees it as Shindou pulls him to his feet. There is a sharp, sick clanging sound, one that sounds like steel hitting steel. It’s loud. Shindou doesn’t let go of his hand and is instead pulling him along forcefully as he breaks into a hard run. 

Ibuki looks up.

Above them, steel beams fall from the sky. 

This is not good. If it’s not one thing, it’s the next, isn’t it?

Shindou and Ibuki are both at a full sprint now, the playmaker’s iron grip on Ibuki’s hand would hurt if they weren’t running for their lives. The harsh noise above them is getting louder, closer by the second. They’re not going to make it.

“We’re going to have to dodge them!” Shindou shouts and Ibuki is about to shout a reply back when the clanging above suddenly stops. 

Ibuki looks up again and jerks to a stop, Shindou nearly falling flat on his face at the sudden arrest of movement.

The beams have stopped their descent. They hang in the air ominously. They flicker in and out of existence once, twice, and then disappear entirely.

Yeah. The Black Room is broken. This is just about the nail in the coffin.

There’s a long pause before Ibuki speaks, his voice cracking. “…Okay. I’m never training in here again.”

Shindou drops Ibuki’s hand in favor of breathing hard with his hands on his knees, the one still clutching Ibuki’s jersey. “We need to find a way out of here. I don’t even know how much time has passed. I left my phone outside.” 

“Me too.” Ibuki groans. His hand feels unexpectedly empty at the vacancy left in his palm by Shindou’s hand. He glances down at it and is suddenly reminded of his bare chest. He coughs.

“Hm?” Shindou takes his hands off his knees and looks up at him.

“My, uh-”

“Ah -sorry. I totally forgot.” Shindou’s eyes widen like the realization that Ibuki’s shirt is still in his hand is somewhat scandalous. Ibuki finds himself holding his breath as the playmaker holds it out for him to take. “Here.”

He takes it and pulls it over his head. The beat of silence that follows makes him steal another glance at Shindou, who has taken to inspecting the hem of his own jersey like he’s avoiding looking his way. He suddenly feels awkward.

Ibuki coughs again. “We’re, uh, we’re gonna miss the game if we’re in here for too long.”

Shindou speaks up at that. “They wouldn’t leave without us. They’d at least find out we’re in here before that would happen.” He pauses. “Unless they already know, and can’t get us out.”

Ibuki bites the inside of his cheek as he takes a few steps towards one of the hologram skyscrapers. He presses his back against it to slide down and sit on the sidewalk. 

Whatever awkward silence that had happened just moments before is nothing compared to the guilt that crushes him when he thinks about how he’s letting down the team. He’s supposed to be defending Earth Eleven’s goal. There’s a big possibility their teammates are lining up on the field of the Grand Celesta Stadium as they speak.

Ibuki slams a fist down onto the pavement beside him. “How did this happen? This fucking sucks.”

Shindou is silent as he leans against the wall next to where Ibuki is sitting.

“Everyone else is probably off saving the galaxy, and we’re stuck in the stupid fake Earth simulator being forced to save each other from artificial danger and huddle for warmth like idiots. Just a whole lot insignificant fuck-all.” 

“‘A whole lot of insignificant fuck-all’. Good to know.” 

Ibuki suddenly pauses at Shindou’s tone. 

He looks up at him from where he’s still sitting on the sidewalk. The playmaker isn’t looking at him and Ibuki is still kind of disoriented. Waking up in a different setting every five seconds will do that to a guy…. Come to think of it, Shindou definitely woke up before him. 

Not only that, but Shindou definitely woke up with Ibuki’s arms around him and his jersey draped over him and his body pressed up against his and his face buried in the back of his neck and - oh jeez. Ibuki is an idiot. 

Ibuki scrambles to his feet. “Wait. I didn’t mean that.” 

Shindou is silent. He blinks and shifts his eyes to look at Ibuki. Those deep, deep brown eyes.

“I think.” Ibuki amends.

Shindou closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose. “It’s fine. I misread something. Don’t worry about it.”

Shindou ‘ _ misread something’ _ . Fuck.

“No, Shindou, I-“

“It’s fine, really. We need to focus on finding a way out of here anyway.”

“No, um. Shindou, I don’t, uh, think that…um. Shit.”

Shindou pushes himself off from the wall and lightly crosses his arms. When he speaks his tone is gentle, kind even. “Ibuki, you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay. Come on, let’s look for a way out.” 

“No, no, no.” Ibuki says, shaking his head. 

He wanted to say something, right? Isn’t this his chance? As Shindou starts to walk away Ibuki reaches out instinctually to grab onto his hand. 

“You uh, you didn’t misread it.”

Shindou halts in his tracks. He doesn’t turn back to face him. Ibuki pauses. His mouth feels dry and his face feels hot. He can’t leave it at that. Isn’t this what he’s been worrying about? What he wanted to happen?

But now that he’s here, what is he supposed to say?

“Look. I’m um, I’m sorry if I crossed the line last night. You looked cold and I felt bad and-“

“Yeah, stop.” Shindou tries to pull his hand away but Ibuki holds fast.

The words are falling out before he can stop them. “That came out wrong! I just…I’ve never done this before!”

Shindou is silent.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He hears himself say.

Ibuki pauses. His heart is hammering in his chest. Has he said too much? He finds himself allowing more words to fall from his lips. Soft words, words that feel weird in his mouth. “…Take it easy on me, okay? Just this once.”

“Ibuki, if this is because you feel bad-“

“It’s not!” Ibuki protests. “Listen. Shindou, ugh, I can’t explain it but I, fuck. I don’t know what’s going on between us but you can’t deny that there’s something here. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

If Shindou didn’t understand before, Ibuki is willing to bet he sure does now.

The thought is terrifying. 

Shindou sighs. He finally turns back and his eyes meet Ibuki’s. Ibuki feels his heart skip. Shindou is not pulling away anymore, he’s not protesting or even saying anything. He’s listening, his hand firmly in Ibuki’s grasp. He’s listening and it’s so, so scary. Ibuki can’t tell what he’s thinking.

When Ibuki manages to speak again he feels like an idiot. “…Say something.”

“Ibuki… I don’t…” Shindou bites his lip. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Fuck. He said too much. Ibuki mentally curses himself. He lets go of Shindou’s hand. “Okay. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“…Ibuki, that’s not what I mean.” Shindou says softly.

Ibuki can only watch as Shindou takes a small step closer and takes Ibuki’s hand back into his own, this time running a thumb over his knuckles. The eyes Shindou is giving him are careful ones, ones that make Ibuki’s heart leap up into his throat.

Ibuki knows he shouldn’t say anything else. He’s pushed his luck and made it this far. His voice is quiet and breaks when he says it. “Just promise me nothing will change when this is over.”

Shindou lets out an exasperated noise. “I can’t promise that. I, damn, I’m-“

Ibuki’s heart twists painfully. “Why not? What’s so hard about this?” He should keep his mouth shut, he should really keep his mouth shut, “I like you, Shindou. I like you a lot-“

Ibuki is cut off as an enormous boom sounds from inside the simulation. He instantly tightens his hold on Shindou’s hand and looks upward, expecting steel beams to begin falling. Instead, the simulation itself flickers several times before the scenery around them changes once again.

This place is one he hasn’t ever seen before. 

Now, where there was once concrete under his shoes there is suddenly soft, long grass that comes all the way up to his kneecaps. The blistering hot sun from the city has been replaced with a cool, anticipatory breeze. Morning air swirls around them, constellations still visible in the early dawn sky.

He’s startled when Shindou removes his hand from his grasp. 

“What’s so hard? Ibuki, seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Shindou says with a small, pained laugh. The change in scenery hasn’t phased him at all. “You think I don’t know about your contract? You’re going abroad to play basketball.”

“What? Shindou,” Ibuki starts, confused. There’s too much happening. The simulation, how cold his hand feels now that it’s empty. The suddenly painful aching in his chest. “That doesn’t mean-“

“It means a lot of things.” Shindou shakes his head from side to side. He looks away and the breeze blows through his hair. “It means we live in two totally different worlds. It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated. Did you even hear what I said?”

“But your dream-“

“I like you. Do you like me, too?”

He turns back towards him, eyes wide, troubled. “Ibuki, that’s not-“

“Do you?”

Shindou lets out an audible breath and looks away once more.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

Ibuki runs his hand through his hair in exasperation. How did this backfire so badly? The other boy’s silence is more agonizing than he'd ever thought it could be.

Fuck it. If Shindou didn’t know how he felt before, he does now. Ibuki has nothing to lose at this point.

“We’re literally ten million lightyears away from everyone we’ve ever known, hurling through the galaxy on a fucking space train, but you’re worried about my  _ basketball career?” _ Ibuki scoffs. “That’s bullshit.”

“You know what’s bullshit?” Shindou’s voice is scathing as he whirls back around to face him. Ibuki tries his best not to flinch. “What’s bullshit is how self-centered you are. How am I supposed to believe that nothing will change when this is over? That you’re not going to just forget about this after you’ve gotten what you want?”

“That was before!” He protests. “I’m not the same person I was back then! You know that! You’re not the same either!”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. And how do you know that? You don’t even know me.”

Ibuki huffs and turns away from him, hands curled into fists at his sides. “You don’t know me either if you think that  _ ‘what I want’ _ is something I can just go cherry-pick off some stupid shallow basketball court.”

“Ibuki-”

“God, Shindou. If you really think being with me is something you’d regret, just say it.”

Ibuki instantly wishes he could take back his words as he looks back up to see Shindou press his hands over his eyes.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” His voice is muffled.

Ibuki is silent for a moment, observing him. When he speaks again his voice breaks. “...Then, what? Is there somebody else?”

“No!” Shindou lifts his hands off his face and Ibuki is relieved to see there are no tears. “I mean - no. Look, it’s just, it’s complicated.”

He takes a brave, tentative step towards him. 

“You need to tell me if there is somebody else, Shindou. Is it someone back home?”

Shindou shakes his head rapidly and stares down at his feet. “No! There’s not. There’s nobody else.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m overwhelmed, I’m-” Shindou cuts himself off.

Ibuki waits as the playmaker pauses a moment before he speaks again, lightly flustered, his expression betraying something akin to defeat. “...So much is happening. The team is only barely ready and the Grand Celesta Galaxy isn’t something we can afford to lose. Tsurugi is missing and I need to be there to support Tenma. There’s so much at stake, and. And there’s you, and with you I’m…” He stops.

“What?”

Shindou shrugs and looks down at his feet like he’s unsure about how Ibuki will feel about the information he’s choosing to reveal, like he’s unsure how he feels about it himself. “...I’m afraid of taking it too far.”

Ibuki moves forward to brush his hand over Shindou’s forearm. He lets out a light, almost-bitter laugh. “You don’t think I can handle whatever you throw my way yet?”

Their eyes connect and suddenly Ibuki’s heart is beating twenty times faster.

The playmaker doesn’t respond to the question. Instead, slowly, Shindou takes a gentle hold of each of Ibuki’s hands and leads them to his waist. At the contact Ibuki is suddenly holding his breath again. The fabric there is soft and warm like he remembers, and the distance between them is only inches now. 

“Ibuki, why did you lie down with me last night?”

Ibuki’s face flushes hotly. Shindou is finally looking at him but he suddenly feels too awkward and out of place to look back. His hands sit loosely on Shindou’s hips now, too awkward to hold him yet too enamored to pull away. “You know why. I already told you.”

Ibuki startles as a cold hand makes gentle contact with his cheek and guides him back to look into those brown eyes. Shindou’s expression is one Ibuki has never seen, that he can’t decipher. Whatever it is, it sends a flurry of butterflies up through his belly. His hands slide back up to grip at his waist as Shindou’s fingers move to brush the baby hairs on the back of his neck.

“Tell me again.”

Ibuki’s mouth is dry. His heart is pounding. “I like you.”

“And are you going to do anything about it?”

Ibuki blinks. He swallows. “Do you want me to?”

At that, Shindou finally breaks into a little smile - one that makes the butterflies fly all the way up his chest. The breeze blows again and sweeps long grass against Ibuki’s legs. The constellations in the sky twinkle, bright white and prominent against the sky splashed with pinks, oranges, and purples. 

But this is serious. Ibuki needs to make sure this is clear. “I won’t do anything about it, not unless you want me to.” He pauses and takes a breath. “If you don’t think any of this can stay the same after we get back to Earth, if you think everything will change, I… I respect that, and I won’t bother you about it again. We can pretend this never happened.”

It’s the truth, but only halfway. The singular lie rings around Ibuki’s head a few more times even after it has left his own mouth.

He’ll never be able pretend none of this ever happened. He’s never going to get the feeling of being curved against Shindou’s back out of his head. He’s never going to be able to look at him without this - this racing heart, these butterflies in his very soul. He’s never going to be able to smell lavender, or honey, or stare into space the same way again.

Shindou is silent for a long, heavy moment.

When he speaks, his voice is soft. “I know I said I can’t promise nothing will change, but you know, change is kind of interesting like that.” He says. He takes another tiny step closer. His voice is quiet. “Sometimes it isn’t a bad thing.”

Something in Shindou’s voice rings clear that whatever he’s referencing, he’s speaking from experience. His tone is warm. Ibuki’s heart bursts and he finds himself grasping for his hand and intertwining their fingers, leaving Shindou’s waist to come up and brush against his cheek, against those soft, stardust colored waves. 

Change. Ibuki has changed. He’s a different person than the one he was before Earth Eleven, before the Nauts Go, before the heat and ash of the planet Gurdon, before this, before now. 

“So, Munemasa. If you won’t do anything about it, maybe I will.” 

Ibuki watches with wide eyes. Shindou leans in.

A kiss. It’s a small, slow, tentative kiss despite the confidence in Shindou’s voice just before. His lips are soft, soft like the skin on his wrist, softer than anything Ibuki has ever felt before. He’s starstruck, breathless, when Shindou breaks it and leans back to look at him. 

Those brown eyes are warm, bright like the constellations above them. This Black Room stage is different, Ibuki thinks, he can’t even sense the fakeness, the artificiality of the grass and breeze and sky. But maybe it’s because it doesn’t matter now, with Shindou this close, his taste still lingering on his lips, and just how  _ real _ it feels. How real it  _ is.  _

Ibuki has never kissed anyone before now.

Sometimes change is not a bad thing.

Ibuki’s body moves by itself and the distance closes between them again. This time with something new, a feverish warmth, an answer. Shindou moves his hands up into Ibuki’s hair as the goalkeeper slides his arms back down to wind around the other’s waist and pull him in closer, flush to his body. Ibuki chases his lips again and again and it’s not long before he finds that Shindou is leading him to the ground. He follows. The plants around them are tall and they dance in the breeze as Ibuki kisses and presses Shindou down into the long grass. 

They break apart, and Ibuki stares breathless at Shindou beneath him where his face is red and hot, hair laid out wildly in the grass. The grass, grass that is unmistakably artificial now that Ibuki is up close, now that he can see the little blue pixels begin to come into view. Now that the scenery smells less like clean morning air and more like the cool, recycled oxygen of the Nauts Gou. Now that those blue pixels are peeling themselves away from the grass in glittering waves.

Wait.

Ibuki and Shindou exchange a wide eyed glance before the hologram around them shatters into a million blue shards, bouncing into nonexistence on a dark black floor. The constellation-filled sky falls out of reality and the soft grass against Ibuki’s knees melts away like air into a solid and cold hard tile floor. 

They’re back in the Black Room, or rather, the real Black Room. It looks just how they left it - dark, calm, big and wide open. A digital clock on the wall tells Ibuki they’ve been inside for almost fourteen hours. 

A movement by the control board takes Ibuki’s attention immediately. His head swivels around to see none other than Earth Eleven’s captain. Matsukaze Tenma, one hand on the  _ ‘session terminate’ _ button and the other limply holding his phone at his side as he takes in the scene in front of him. His eyes are huge.

Ibuki is still on all fours, pinning Shindou to the floor. His face is red, his hair is mussed. There’s no way this is happening to him. No fucking way.

Tenma coughs.

“...Uh! Hi guys!” Tenma says. His face is already red as a tomato. “I, um, I just wanted to let you guys know that we’re gonna be landing on Falam Orbius soon so…uh. Yeah...”

Ibuki is frozen in his position over Shindou as he watches Tenma edge out of the room as quickly as he can without sprinting. This is it. Ibuki will have to flee the country. 

Underneath him, Shindou snorts and lets his head fall back onto the hard floor. “Oh well. I suppose he’d find out sooner or later.”

He maneuvers himself out of Ibuki’s hold to push himself up to his feet. As he does, he turns to face Ibuki and holds out a hand with a warm, humorous expression. His posture is casual, like he’s not all too concerned about the compromising position they’ve just been discovered in.

“Well, you heard the captain. Looks like it's time to go.” He says. “Still ready to show me your best plays?”

Ibuki’s face is still red when he takes his hand. Shindou’s fingers are just as soft and cold as they were only minutes before. His waves are messy and his smile is gentle. As Ibuki gets to his feet, he holds onto Shindou’s hand for a second too long. He squeezes it lightly. In the air around Shindou hangs an ambience. A particular scent. It’s clean. Warm. Like lavender and honey. 

After this, everything will change. 

“Of course. We have a game to win.”


End file.
